


one

by thepointsdonotmatter



Series: splash brothers [1]
Category: Men's Basketball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 02:52:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19416970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepointsdonotmatter/pseuds/thepointsdonotmatter
Summary: Steph is tired after a game.





	one

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a series of one-shots/drabbles revolving around Steph/Klay. First up, Protective Klay, whom I will never stop screaming about.

Steph feels like a dead body. They’d played until the bitter last minute but lost, just barely. There’s hardly any time to digest the loss; they have to board a plane back home soon. Steph sits in the locker room, head bowed, and feels every single sore muscle in his body. 

He hears footsteps coming up behind him. 

Klay puts a hand on the junction of his shoulder and neck. Steph leans into his touch, automatic. 

“C’mon,” Klay murmurs, stepping closer. He smells like soap. He strokes Steph’s neck. “You’re gonna stink up the whole plane if you don’t shower.” 

Steph snorts, but he does stand, Klay’s hand moving to the small of his back. His knees are a little creaky. “Damn, I’m getting old,” he says. 

“Don’t I know it,” Klay says, smile in his voice. 

Steph still feels out of it as they walk to the showers. Klay doesn’t take his hand off of him. 

The shower area is empty. Steph must have been sitting in the locker room longer than he realized. He strips off his jersey, can’t stop a slight groan from escaping his lips. Klay stares at his exposed abdomen, the angry red skin there. Some seven-footer had gotten him with his elbow; Steph knows it’s going to _hurt_ tomorrow. 

Klay takes off his clothes, too, follows him to the shower head.

“You don’t have to,” he says, but Klay ignores him. 

The hot water feels good on his skin. He closes his eyes, hears Klay turn on the shower head three over as well. It’s unlikely someone is going to catch them, but just in case... 

Klay comes back over and picks up the soap, starts to lather Steph up. Steph pulls him close. He knows they don’t have long – five minutes, maybe – but he still drops a lazy kiss against Klay’s neck, against the bruise on his collarbone from an awkward fall two games ago. He runs his hands down Klay's hips, cupping his ass. They kiss for a few seconds. Klay drops to a kneel, rubbing the soap down his legs.

Steph doesn't know how much longer he can stay upright. Tonight had been a regular season game, nothing more. He’d taken the pain pills, but they’d worn off by the fourth quarter. He’d been running on fumes the last couple minutes. Maybe he’s getting the flu. 

“I don’t know why I’m so tired,” he mumbles. 

Klay looks up at him. He doesn’t say anything, but Steph sees the worry in his eyes. The rest of the shower is silent, and by the time they make it out of the locker room, Steph’s legs are starting to feel like Jell-O. 

They stand with the rest of the team on the tarmac, waiting for the plane. Some sort of mechanical issue. Klay nudges him with his shoulder every now and then to keep him awake. 

Steph barely remembers the plane arriving, him getting to his seat. He hears the other team members talking, the words like soup in his brain; the engine of the plane firing up. 

As he drifts off, he feels a blanket being draped over him.


End file.
